Aw, man, I haven't posted in ages. What's something I can write in the space of about ten seconds?
What if *Alan Stevens* wrote the end of Blakes 7 Gold
(*Avon, Keiller and Soolin wait for the mysterious cloaked figures to arrive, guarding the crates of precious gold. When they do, we see that the face of their leader is revealed to Avon, but the audience cannot see...)
AVON: Ah. When I saw you were the commander of security of a former President, I thought there was only one real candidate..
KEILLER: Avon this isn't what you think..
AVON: President Fendahleen!
(We see that there is a giant green tapeworm with bits hanging out underneath the cloak. It burbles incoherently)
KEILLER: He says hello.
SOOLIN: I thought it would have to be Servalan...
AVON: Oh, come on - look at this fat bastard! Does he look like he'd survive in this dog-eat-dog fallout of the Federation, let alone be a good enough soldier for Servalan to hire as her personal bodyguard?
SOOLIN: I wasn't saying it would have to make any sense. Speaking of which - how the hell did a giant glowing tapeworm become President? Is that what you call sensible?
KEILLER: How dare you say that about my lover!
AVON: Your... lover?
KEILLER: Oh, I knew you'd be the same. Nobody can understand the purity of our love - nobody else can understand that this is no mere bestiality - that I am ascneding onto a higher plane. That our squishy bonding is what all men should aspire to, and that the squelch of our
KEILLER: Some people have no concept of romance.
(President Fendahleen is growing as visibly bored as it is possible for a Fendahleen to be, and so sucks the life out of one of its minders. His screams of pain drown out the last of Avon and Soolin's dry-heaving)
AVON: Give me three good reasons not to kill you.
KEILLER: Why three?
AVON: Because I've got two against already - you're a sick, perverted bastard and my tight leather trousers are ruined. Three if you count that I'm a complete psychopath this week for reasons not clear to me personally.
KEILLER: Well, we've got a lot of money in exchange for the gold, I plan to leave you alone from here on and...
KEILLER: Erm... I'm friends with God?
AVON: The Fendahl is God?
AVON: Well, I'm glad that's settled. Die, motherfucker.
(Avon shoots Keiller eight times through the head. Soolin shoots the Fendahleen's minders.)
AVON: You shoot good, Soolin.
SOOLIN: That's why you hired me.
AVON: Is it? Or did I just need a little... target practice?
SOOLIN: You motherf-
(Avon shoots Soolin down. She lies on the ground, dying)
SOOLIN: I should have known it from the start.. but I don't have a fucking clue what's going on...
AVON: This is the big time, blondie. Four cuts is better than five. Also, I'm a necrophiliac and I prefer white meat.
(Soolin looks at him with undisguised revulsion)
AVON: What? This is FOR ADULTS. A sexual motivation for everything makes things more interesting.
SOOLIN: I hope for your sake Tarrant agrees with that...
(She holds up her teleport bracelet - it's broadcasting back to the ship)
AVON: You double-crossing bitch!
SOOLIN: In what way have I double crossed anyone?
AVON: ...well, you've got me there. I guess I should think a little more before saying anything. I wonder how this day could get any worse..
(In that moment Avon is taken roughly from behind by Fendahleen whom, you may have noted, they failed to kill. This is possibly because he is the personification of Death, possibly because he is in fact the true master of all creation, but most likely because Avon and Soolin have been quite retarded this week)
AVON: NOOO! Homosexuality is worse than death!!!
(Instead of dying, however, Avon re-appears in The Liberator flight deck. He observes an oddly lifeless Zen)
AVON: Ahh, instead of dying I've been sent backwards in time, to the fateful day that we discovered the Liberator. Now I have the oppurtunity to change the timelines and save myself, and I must judge the oppurtunity carefully...
(Blake, Avon and Jenna enter in their survival kits, and stop dead when they see future Avon)
OLD AVON: .. I think you should introduce yourself.
AVON: Quite right. My name is DIE MOTHERFUCKERS!
(Before you even finish this sentence all three are sizzling and twitching corpses splattered along the floor. Avon continues shooting everything else in the room and laughing madly. After a short time Raiker arrives and stares at Avon. Avon has run out of ammunition and stares back.)
RAIKER: You are a complete wanker, you know that?
(Raiker pulls off his face to reveal HE'S A FENDAHL! And then, you know, takes Avon roughly from behind.)
(CUT TO: A small, daintily decorates bedroom, where a tiny Fendahl-slug lies underneath a motorbike-covered eiderdown, and an elder Fendahl sits by it, reading from an old red-bound bound with reading glasses)
OLD FENDAHL: And from that day on, all humanity was our bitch, for the ten minutes or so before we murdered them brutally and ascended ourselves to rulership of the entire Universe.
YOUNG FENDAHL: I love that story, Grandpa.
OLD FENDAHL: And so do I.
YOUNG FENDAHL: But what happened to Vila, and Tarrant and the black one who never got any lines, Grandpa?
OLD FENDAHL: Oh, they were all killed in such brutal and horrible ways that even your sick little mind would have trouble understanding it. It's in this book, but only in the sealed section. Wait until your older.
YOUNG FENDAHL: Gee, I can't wait. Was Vila in lots of pain?
OLD FENDAHL: He passed out eight times, and was only re-awoken to continue the torture by rats set loose on his man-balls.
(Hearing this the young Fendahl drifts peacefully to sleep with a smile-like thing over it's mouth-like thing. Its grandfather creeps towards the door before turning off the light, casting one last admiring glance back at the little tyke before closing the door. Bizarrely 'THE END' appears on screen written in a big love heart before the credit rolls to the sound of John Lennon's 'Imagine')
I'm sure Stevens will see the funny side.